MINOR IRRITATIONS OF LIFE – THEY ALL ADD UP

There are swathes of people all trying to get somewhere at their own pace – some who want to check out every single store and window shop to their hearts content; others who – like me – want to get in and out of there as quickly as humanly possible. But there is one other type of shopper that comes armed with their own weaponry, and good luck to anyone who gets in their way.

Mothers with prams don’t care how packed the shopping mall is, or whether the person blocking their path is a 20-year-old student lost in Lakeside, or an elderly woman pacing wearily through Westfield – if you get in their way they will MOW YOU DOWN.

Little do they realise that a pram is actually a device designed to transport their child from A to B, oh no. They think it’s akin to a fucking tank that they can use to de-footify anyone who dares cross their path. They don’t even spare a thought for the toddler at the front – legs dangling freely, all set to suffer the full impact of any collision- if anything happens to little Toby or Tamsin – well, it’s just collateral damage in the war on retail.

To the average person a mother is someone with a maternal instinct, someone who falls effortlessly in love with their child and who will protect them at all costs. That is unless there’s a silk blouse on discount – in which case fuck the kiddie, River Island takes precedence.